Mystery
by Spontaneous Fiction
Summary: Bill is frustrated. The Gravity Falls we know is off his radar, giving him nothing but static. Mysterious messages are encoded into the static, but what do they mean? Meanwhile, a twelve-year old Madison is just starting middle school and desperately tries to fit in. The question remains though: what exactly does "fitting in" entail? (I hate summaries BTW. Just read it)
1. Prologue: An Emergency Tea Party

**A/N :** Yellow everyone. Welcome to my first Gravity Falls fanfic. (Midnight's Haze bullied me into uploading the prologue. *shakes fist* _I'LL GET YOU BACK FOR THIS HAZE!_) Before we get started (in other words: where you start reading) lemme explain this prologue just a bit. I have an OC named Bill (named 'im after Bill Cipher I did) who will occasionally make appearances. He is the Master of Thought Process in my head and has similar reality altering powers that Bill Cipher does. Similar. Not exactly the same. Cipher is a dream demon, MY Bill is not. So in this story they're gonna be sort of like business partners. Hope that's clear. Also, it's hard to write both of these guys in a single scene (same name and blahblablah). I hope you don't get very confused. That's all from me right now. **Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:** I am a 17-year-old idiot at a laptop, and have no official rights to the original characters created by Alex Hirsh, our Lord and King. All of the characters are copyrighted to him, and I have no ownership of them. Only my OC's and crazy plot lines. Let's get this party started.

Prologue: An Emergency Tea Party

Bill never expected house calls. After all, he was the Head of Thought Process (literally). How in the hypothalamus did one get house calls or regular calls anyways, especially when you're a figment of someone's thoughts? You didn't, pure plain and simple. Yet, on one of the few days off that Bill had, his phone rang. It was an old rotary (Bill was an old-fashioned kind of guy, even for tech that was only supposed look showy- like a damn phone) he picked up at a thrift shop. It wasn't supposed to ring. But it was now.

Bill's obsidian eyes stared angrily at the object as the receiver end rattled against its stand. The book he was reading snapped shut (a copy of _Good Omens_ by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman) and he approached the phone, gingerly picking up the receiver. He first heard static on the other end.

"Hello?" he said into it. There was no answer. For Conscience sake there _shouldn't_ be in the first place! It wasn't a real phone! Bill considered hanging up. The static on the phone cleared a bit. Then there was a voice.

"Bill? Hello? Damn it stupid connection, nothing works anymore," it said. If Bill had any blood (he didn't) it would have run cold. The speaker on the other end sounded almost exactly like him. A more…mechanical and auto-tuned version of his voice, granted, but still too similar.

"…Bill?" he said hesitantly. The static amount lowered again before his correspondent answered.

"There we go, sorry 'bout that buddy. Cross-dimensional calls aren't exactly working properly here," Other Bill said. Bill narrowed his eyes in confusion. Original Bill, mind you. The one with the "phone-that-works-but-shouldn't-cause-its-not-a-real-phone". There hadn't ever been any connection trouble before. Then again, no one ever called him on his non-home phone before either. There were firsts for everything he guessed.

"Bill, what do you want? No, more importantly how the hell did you get this number, _this isn't even a real phone it shouldn't have a number!" _He said angrily into the device. There was a sigh on the other end as Other Bill replied, "I know, and I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't important. Look, we need to talk in person. You gotta trust me on this." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

"Damn it, I'm on _vacation_. This better be big Bill," he said.

"It is,"

* * *

Bill found himself half an hour later sitting at a nice outdoor-type café with a porcelain cup half filled with a dark brown tea. Across from him, was his…sort of friend (more like business partners in actuality) Bill. This Bill however, was a dream demon. Both Bills were at a place the dream demon had conjured up in the universal mindscape. Everything else around them was mostly abyssal white, with odd bits and ends floating randomly around. All of those objects were devoid of color, including the café. Bill sipped at his tea thoughtfully, savoring the bitter taste of it. An old radio (1950's era he guessed) floated by him, giving out the occasional blip of radio static and some broadcasts in between. Through the static one could vaguely hear, "_but first, predeceased, I give you the weather_" in a menacing tone before it passed out of hearing range. Bill swirled his cup, watching the old radio move along.

"Alright, so what was so urgent you called my vintage and non-working phone and got me out of a well-earned vacation?" he said taking another sip of his drink. The floating triangle in front of him snapped his fingers. A screen appeared beside them, showing some old town. It was daytime in the footage, and little dark figures that appeared to be people where going about their usual business. Nothing unusual it seemed.

"What am I looking at Bill?" the figment of thought asked in a tired voice.

"Gravity Falls," Bill replied. Another snap and the screen cut to an old house in the woods. Bill the Figment placed his cup on the table, narrowing his eyes at the image. It was vaguely familiar.

"I've seen this somewhere before," he murmured, racking his brains to remember where.

"I'm sure you have. Now, the images that I've shown you are from a few days ago," the demon said. More images flicked one after another on the screen. Same town, same normalcy.

"Then what's the big issue?" Bill asked. There was an unnatural pause. Bill looked over at the triangle demon, who seemed…distressed. No, he didn't look distressed. He looked concerned. Was this Bill even capable of feeling an emotion like concern? He was capable of anger, everyone knew that. The demon even had a strange sense of humor. But concern didn't seem like it was part of the spectrum.

The look was gone in a flash, and Bill snapped his black fingers again. This time, there was static on the square screen.

"This is real-time footage of Gravity Falls. For once, I can't see what's going on in real-time," Bill said. His fingers tapped against the table. The other Bill was simply staring at the black and white spotted screen, color inverted eyes blank.

"You've always been able to see real-time haven't you?" he asked. The demon nodded, still drumming against the table.

"What about other places besides the town," he continued. Bill shrugged. "They're not as interesting, but I'm getting the same kind of static, just in less focus. If I were to change to say, Burma," the screen changed to said place. A jungle setting could be seen, though there was a less opaque smattering of the same black and white static.

"I've done some checking. The farther from Gravity Falls, Oregon, the less amount of static. There's always some, but it's more concentrated the closer you get to the town," he explained.

"So you think something's going on in the town?" Bill asked, still staring at the screen, which had switched back to the heavily spotted one that should have pictured Gravity Falls.

"I know something's happening. I've always been able to see that town Bill, always. There has to be interference of some kind that's counter-acting my powers," he said in frustration. His black fingers tapped against the table harder. The other Bill had leaned forward in his chair, intent on the screen. The demon rolled his eye and continued his tapping. Tap, tone. Pause, tap-tone-tap. Another pause, and the same rhythm repeated. Tap tap, pause, and three taps. The other Bill's eyes widened.

"Bill, why are you tapping that rhythm?" he asked quietly. The sound stopped. Both Bills looked at each other, one with growing understanding, the other a little confused. He looked at his black hand and said, "I don't know,"

"You have a remote for this screen thing?" The other Bill suddenly asked. There was a flash of blue fire, and he was holding a small black remote. Non-Demon Bill fiddled with the buttons on it, until the sound of static was slowed down considerably. Both could make out a bunch of tones, long and short, in the background of the static. It was a message. Out of his black waistcoat, the non-demon extracted a pen and pad, and began jotting down the tones. There was nearly a minute of silence from the screen. Then the rhythm started again. Bill put down dots and lines on the pad. The screen once again went to a minute long lapse of silence. That must have been the message. Demon Bill floated over the table to look at what his "friend" had put down.

**.- .-. .-. .. ...- .- .-..**

"I don't get it," the demon said after a while. Bill face-palmed, wondering how he could even call himself "all-knowing".

"Its morse codes you Dorito," he explained. The other rolled his eye in exasperation. "Yeah, yeah, but what's it mean?" They both stared at the series of dots and lines scribbled on paper. Both of them tried deciphering it mentally, coming up with different answers, none of which made any sense. As they worked (not exactly as a team, mind you) they failed to notice a darker blotch of static slowly appearing on Bill's real-time Gravity Falls channel. It grew bigger, taking on a human silhouette. The tones started again, but unbeknownst to the Bills, it was different this time.

**- .. - . / ... ... .- .-.. .-.. / . -. -.. / .. -. / -.. .- .-. -.- -. . ... ...**

**A/N**: I love cliffhangers, don't you? Alright, tell me what you think. I've been paranoid about this prologue for ages, so give me some mental relief guys. Next chapter will be up when I've completed my second mental paranoia, and it'll get into some other characters as well. First person to identify the radio station that transmitted the "but first predeceased I give you the weather" quote, and deciphers my messages gets a high five and a mention in the next update. Thank.


	2. Chapter 1: Day One

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait all of you who've been expecting an update. Well, wait no more cause here's the official chapter one! Shout-out to both **Midnight's Haze** and **Hylian Goddess Lillian** for deciphering my little message, and the highest of fives to Hylian Goddess Lillian who figured out my little reference in the previous chapter. To those of you that haven't figured out either yet: the message is just some fun foreshadowing, while the radio transmission is just a fandom reference. Now then, let's kick this thing into full gear! Allons-y!

**Disclaimer:** I am a 17 year-old idiot at a laptop, and have no official rights to the original characters created by Alex Hirsh, our Lord and King. All of the characters from the show are copyrighted to him, and I have no ownership of them. My OC's however are my own, and I take ownership of their lives. Which I probably shouldn't, as I'm a horrible character care-taker.

Chapter 1: Day One

_-Beep beep beep beep-_

A hand flew to the nightstand, desperately trying to shut off the annoying morning signal of horror and depression. It was also known by normal people as an alarm clock. After a few unsuccessful tries at hitting the OFF button, the owner of the hand groaned and rolled over closer to the machine, finally slamming a hand down on the button to silence its infernal beeping. Staring in apathy at the ceiling the girl sighed and wondered vaguely if it was even worth getting up at that time.

"Madison! I heard your alarm, so you had better get ready! Remember, first day of school," her father's voice called out from downstairs. Madison groaned again. Now she had no other option but to get up. She threw back her covers and stretched, managing to pop both of her shoulders as she did so. Then the 12 year-old got ready for the undoubtedly long day ahead of her.

One quick shower and a carefully made wardrobe decision later, she stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, examining her reflection. Her brown hair wasn't straightened for a change (she usually styled it that way), so the long locks flowed in a slightly curly tumble from the top of her head down to her mid-back. Her chocolate brown eyes shone above a smattering of light freckles on her full cheeks. All in all, she didn't look half bad. Concealed under her maroon shirt was a shining silver pentagram on a knotted leather strip necklace. Madison's hand went to it briefly, brushing against the cold metal that had become almost a good luck charm for her in the years of her owning it. She hoped it would keep up with that streak today. Brushing off her maroon colored shirt and her flower patterned skirt, Madison grabbed her favorite pair of sneakers and her new backpack (filled with new school supplies) and went downstairs for her breakfast.

Her dad was waiting for her at the table, face hidden behind a large _Ashland_ _Daily Tidings_ newspaper, but ruffled brown hair could be seen from over the newsprint. He was in his usual day-to-day kind of outfit: tan undershirt with a blue plaid long-sleeve over-shirt. Typical combo, though not the kind that would make heads turn at a fashion demo. Madison's dad always reasoned that he was "a busy guy and the fate of the world shouldn't depend on him wearing designer shirts and tight pants". He left that to other people (like Madison's aunt) and kept his comfort combo. Madison of course had a contrasting viewpoint on this, so to make up for her dad's fashion incompetence she became the clothes guru for the both of them. You could imagine the Wal-Mart trips.

On the table across from him was a plate of toast, eggs and slices of orange. She set down her things by her seat on her way to their fridge, grabbing an apple juice-box from it before settling down and tucking into her quick breakfast. As always, the eggs weren't salted but at least the toast hadn't been burned within an inch of its life. According to her dad that incident hadn't been so much his fault as much as it was that their toaster was possessed by the ghost of a pyromaniac intent on killing them by improper cooking methods. Madison joked that he should keep the eggs salted to prevent some chicken demon from killing them too.

"No such thing," he had told her. "I've checked." After that comment Madison made no attempt to question her father's food choices.

Madison chowed down on her non-possessed and non- dangerous food while her dad kept shuffling through the paper. There was a loud crinkling sound as he folded it up and tossed it to the side over to their growing magazine pile.

"Too long, didn't read," he said simply. Madison looked up from her plate and took a sip from her juice-box. She wondered why he even bothered reading local papers anyways. It wasn't like he was ever interested in normal day-to-day things anyways. The man only ever looked for "odd" things. "Odd" only really covered the general area however. Try more supernatural however, and you had the guy's attention 1000%.

"Right, so first day of school," he said, breaking the silence. Madison groaned.

"Dad, don't give me the 'first day of school' speech again please," she said, giving him an agonized look. Her father raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Tired of it already?" he asked. The twelve-year old tossed what remained of her orange at him, saying, "I only got tired of it after fifth grade."

"It's a list, Dad. Any half-wit could memorize a list," she continued.

"Ah, but I would hope through public education you wouldn't be the average half-wit," he replied, tossing the orange so rudely aimed at him to their garbage can. Madison crinkled her nose at him and went to finish her other orange slice. As she sucked on the fruit her dad placed a small brown parcel on the table, and slid it casually across to her. The box was maybe the size of a cell phone, and she picked it up, turning it in her hands as she inspected it.

"And this would be…?"

"Gift from your aunt," he said, indicating that she open it. Madison did so, tearing off the brown paper to reveal a white jewelry case. A gold printed font on the box told her it had come from Turkey. She lifted the lid of the case. Lying on a foam slip was a blue/green corded bracelet with a glass charm hanging off of it. The charm itself was small, a deep blue covering most of it, yet in the center were circles of white and a lighter sky blue. A black dot completed the piece. Altogether it looked like someone had gouged out someone's eye and minimized it and turned it into glass. Madison looked at her dad questioningly, but he only shrugged.

"Ghost charm from Turkey I think. Locals believe the eye scares away ghost and other harmful spirits. She said it works, but take your aunts advice with a grain of salt," he warned. Madison hummed in agreement, but slid the bracelet on anyways, adjusting it so it hung more comfortably on her wrist. At the very least the corded part was nice. The charm on the other hand wasn't what you would call "eye candy". It stared blankly at her from its spot on the bracelet, like it was glaring through the veil or something. _Creepy factor 10+,_ Madison thought, yet she couldn't stop looking at the weird thing. It was like the world's most distracting object or something.

"What's Auntie doing in Turkey?" she asked, still in her private staring contest with the glass eye.

"Some research I think on Turkish fashion. She said in her letter she wanted to integrate Eastern Mediterranean aspects of clothing into her new line or something. Also a friend of hers was…sailing there or something, so she wanted to meet up," he said.

Their grandfather clock suddenly chimed, jolting her out of her thoughts. She glanced the time quickly before cramming the last of her eggs in her mouth and grabbing her backpack. Her dad calmly rose from his seat at the table, moving to the front door to open if for her as she rushed about. The girl grabbed some last minute items before finally rushing out to the door to meet the school bus. Her dad plopped something on her head as she exited, and she reached up to find it was her favorite cap. She smiled up at it and jogged out to the sidewalk where a yellow school bus was lazily coming up the street to meet her. She turned at the curb back to her house, where her dad was still waiting in the archway of the front door, leaning against the frame.

"See ya Dad!" Madison called, raising her hand in farewell and adjusting the white and blue cap with the other. Her father only raised hand back to her in reply, watching as she got on the yellow/orange bus and found a seat. He waited until it was far down the lane before moving to shut the front door.

* * *

Ashland Middle School was the epitome of ordinary in your typical American middle school. However, it was unique in that it only housed two grades: seventh and eighth grade, whereas a lot of others in the U.S had the 6-8 system instead. Why it did this was a good question, the answer to which no one was seemingly able to answer. So the rest of the town just kind of went with the idea. Middle schoolers of course had no opinion on the matter. All of them had just decided that school sucked all around, and whether or not they had to add sixth graders into the mix wouldn't have made the experience any better or worse. And it wasn't like adults put their opinion into consideration anyways. They were kids, what would they know about grade placement and the greater good of public education?

As Madison's bus rolled up to the orange pastel building, she swung her legs back and forth on the seat with nervous energy. This was one of the only times that she was starting the school year the same day as everyone else. She and her dad traveled a lot, and during that time she found it was rare to ever start school on the actual first day of the semester. Not that she blamed her dad for that or anything. The guy just liked to travel a lot, looking for things to write about in his book. He was a published author with a small level of fame tailing him on the East Coast. His series of young adult mystery books kept him and Madison afloat financially for years. After years of endless cross-country trips they had settled in one town so that Madison could have at least two years in one school for a change, by Madison's constant insistence. The location was left to her dad though, and after some thought, Ashland, Oregon had ended up being the place.

So here she was now. The doors to the bus opened with a hiss of air, and kids all stood up with their different things to exit and make their way to the main building. Hands tightly gripping the shoulder straps to her backpack, Madison followed. The sound of hundreds of kids clamoring and shouting met her ears as she hopped off, and she looked around the crowd of them to find where the cafeteria was at. The school counselor had told her and her dad that new schedules were always handed out in there, as it was the best place to fit hundreds of kids. Besides the auditorium of course. A paper sign on the side of the main building pointed her in the right direction, and she followed the red arrow's advice, falling in step behind a crowd of other kids.

The first thing she noticed about the cafeteria was its simplicity. There wasn't much to it besides a bunch of long brown tables, its gray/blue walls, and what she assumed was the kitchens behind the metal shutters on the other end. Another sign told her where to find the seventh grade schedules, which were being handed out by one teacher and student volunteers. There were separate piles as the sheets were organized by students' last names, and Madison looked for the pile that would have her sheet in it. There was a short line for her group and within two minutes or so the girl found herself standing in front of one of the student volunteers.

The kid was her age, she guessed, with a mass of curly red hair, prominent freckles and large round glasses. He adjusted them as she moved up in the line.

"Name?" he asked.

"Madison. Madison Pines."

***A/N*:** There we go. The ball is rolling now! Whether or not is uphill/downhill is up for debate. Reviews are always appreciated here by the way! Many thanks to everyone who has submitted one already. I love reading what you have to say. Also, if I screw up my story in the future (like, format wise) its because I'm a n00b at this FanFiction thing and have no clue how to update stories and add chapters. This is so high maintenance.


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